The Price of Love
by imceobitch
Summary: Non-Magic AU. Draco is a prince who thinks his life is perfect, but Harry, a thief, makes him rethink that. How? By stumbling into his life, of course. Not in a good fashion.
1. All's Well That Ends Well

**The Price of Love**

* * *

**Chapter 1:** All's Well That Ends Well

* * *

"Did you think about it yet?"

"Yes, mother, but I need more time."

The beauty that the room reflected was a striking contrast to Draco's face.

The walls were decorated with a gold paint on a white background, the small details imprinted on it making it more luxurious than it already was. The chandelier was sparkling, the sunlight reflecting on the glass. The long, French windows showed everything outside, or at least what's _inside the castle _– the garden, colorfully filled with roses, tulips, daisies, and every other flowers that you could think of; the petite looking tables and chairs, perfect for afternoon teas; and of course, the gigantic wall, _my prison, _that separated them from the world.

White, soft chairs made of satin were placed around a table, which was empty except for a teacup gone cold. The floors were completely covered with wine red carpets. There was a fireplace on the center of a side of the wall, never having to worry about getting cold. It was making cackling sounds, burning the logs of wood. Draco crossed his legs, fixating his gaze on it. If he stared quite long enough, his mother might go away. _Might._

Heaving a sigh, Narcissa sat opposite her son. She massaged her temples briefly, resting her right hand on the armrest. She opened her mouth to speak, only to close it again. She wasn't even sure how to talk to her own son anymore, yet alone convince him. "How much more time? Draco, it's-"

"Mother, give me a break." Draco immediately cut her off, the familiar trail of her sentence warning that another lecture was coming. He hated to hear that tone. She sounded so tired with everything, and that means a lot because didn't even do much of her time. She almost sounded disappointed with him, but Draco couldn't help that. Could he?

He was tired himself. He felt the weight on his shoulders – it was tiring to fulfill all the responsibilities that his mother wanted him to do. It was exhausting, becoming the perfect man his parents expected him to be. "Please," he added with a murmur, his stomach churning unpleasantly at having to plead. However, desperate times call for desperate measures.

"I'll give you one more month." With that, she left the drawing chamber, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts and feelings, but mainly frustration.

* * *

"You sodding wanker!" Draco immediately followed the man, who started to break into a run. He didn't curse often, mainly because he was"forbidden to utter profanities at any one, or in any situation, no matter how frustrating it is." _Who comes up with those shite, anyway?_ Nonetheless, it was liberating to say the least, breaking the rules his mother had set for him since he was a child, if not for the current state he was in.

Draco was chasing a stranger who just stole his favorite brooch. He was weaving through the thick crowd of the market area. It was filled with people and it was almost impossible to discern who was who, because everybody nearly looked alike because of their similar clothing style.

He was berating himself – _not that it will change anything _– for being so clumsy, and for leaving the castle in the first place. But he couldn't stand it there, not when he felt trapped inside the castle, as if those mahogany tables, silk white roses, bright candles, leather chairs threatened to choke him.

As soon as his mother left, Draco decided to take another tour of the town. It was a shame that the castle was solely separated from it. _To ensure our privacy, and to prevent any iniquity from happening_, father would say. When he would dress up normally – wearing only trousers and a shirt – to visit the town, nobody seemed to know who he was. Not a flicker of recognition.

At first, Draco was curious. He had no idea how people lived out there. He didn't know what they wore or what they did, what they talked about, or what they enjoyed for leisure time. He grew up with an exceptional education, but he was ignorant of what was going on in his own, soon-to-be kingdom. Oh, the irony of his parents' mindset. It was unnerving sometimes.

Pretending to be one of the townspeople, Draco would wander aimlessly, delving into the wonders of the town. The things that happened here astonished him. It was so _different_ from the castle. People seemed to coexist for one another. There was no high or low class. There were only equal people who helped each other.

People from the market would trade food and give extra amounts of goods, just for the sake of it, out of the goodness of their hearts. It didn't matter whether you were poor or not because people would make a way to help you, to ensure that you eat your meals. _The food!_ It was also very unalike from the ones served at the castle. Draco marveled at the rich flavors. He especially liked the sweet desserts, and he had a soft spot for strawberry cream tarts.

The local pub was noisy, but it was joyously so. Everyone would dance and sing, and even the performers seemed to enjoy themselves. People would share drinks, and sometimes drench their clothes with beer. The small orchestra Draco was used to seeing never had that kind of expression. They always looked bored.

Draco always longed to join them but he was afraid that it might blow his cover. People may not know his face that much, having stayed in the castle his whole life, but his mannerisms would immediately show that he wasn't part of them. He didn't belong there.

Panting to catch his breath, Draco halted for a moment, squinting around the crowd. He lost the man. _Dammit! _He worried his bottom lip, and tried to come up with another plan. With that speed, he would've already went to the other side of the town and Draco wouldn't be able to catch up, no matter how much of a fast runner he also was. It was annoying that the petty thief outran him. _That bastard._

It was hard to remember any noticeable trait of the man, but he did remember seeing a scar on his forehead when he turned around to see whether Draco was catching up. The scar had a curious shape. If he recalled correctly, it was a shape of the lightning bolt. Although, thinking about it now, he couldn't just march into the palace and ask the guards to find him. It would be obvious that he was out in town. His parents would disapprove it. _They'll think the townspeople are influencing me in some bad, mysterious way, tainting the perfect prince they want me to become._

He would have to improvise, then.

Checking his watch, he turned to the direction that would lead him to the castle, wrapping his jacket tighter around him. It was getting cold. _But for now, I need to attend another tea party. _Draco groaned. He never understood the point of that blasted party, anyway.

* * *

Draco sat languidly on the bench at his veranda, one hand kneading and massaging his shoulder. He finally got some time for himself, and he sighed in relief, thanking the gods and goddesses that he was finally _alone, _and not with those airheads who talked about the weather and _how beautiful their dresses are_. Or anything relevant to those topics that didn't have any depth. Did creativity die out after Shakespeare?

Upon hearing footsteps, Draco sat up straight, regaining his composure. He wouldn't – shouldn't – let anyone show that the next king was slouching. His brows furrowed in confusion when he craned his neck to see that nobody was in his room. No one even knocked. He snapped his head to the edge of the veranda, only to see a shadow quickly running into the other direction.

Panicking, Draco turned his head to see if he could grab anything to use as a weapon, but nothing remotely useful was in sight. He slowly walked towards where the shadow ran off, only to see the silhouette of the man trying to find a way to break in into one of the rooms. "Wait!" The figure froze.

Something glinting on the silhouette caught his eye. _Is that my–?_

"_You_ fucking bastard!" Draco marched towards the man, not even caring if he was unarmed or not, and that he could be in danger because he didn't know whether the man was just a thief or psychopathic murderer on loose. He never read the towns' newspaper anyway, if ever they had one. "You stole my _pin_!"

The first thing Draco heard was a chuckle. He wasn't sure if it was a nervous chuckle, or just a chuckle _chuckle_. Maybe it was a bit of both, considering that the man raised his palm in complete surrender, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Was he _mocking _him?

"You got me. But you did have a hard time trying to catch me earlier."

Draco saw red. He stalked towards the thief and viciously hauled him by his collar. "What the fuck are you on about?" Draco gritted his teeth, his eyes landing on the now-familiar lightning bolt-shaped scar on the man's forehead. And that piqued Draco's curiosity. Where did he get such a scar? When? Why? _How?_

"Easy there, I didn't know first-class people talked and acted like this." The man's lips quirked into an amused smile, his hand touching Draco's arm lightly, trying to remove himself from his grip. Draco gripped tighter, glaring at the man's cheekiness, snapping out of his trance. "Besides, I think you're more interested in _this_." He pointed towards his forehead.

"That's what you think." Draco gave his best bored expression, although he was dying to ask about the scar. Damn his curiosity.

"Okay, how about I give you this pin and you release me?"

"You are going to give me _my _pin, regardless of anything. I can't believe you just tried to negotiate with me like that!" Draco gaped at the offer the man was making, his eyes blinking in disbelief, certain that he misheard him. No such luck.

"All right, I'll give you your pin but then you'd have to release me anyway." His voice tone suggesting that Draco was stupid – _but maybe I am, how can I be tricked _twice _by the same person? _– was back again. It made Draco's jaw clench, but he did loosen his grip.

"Here. It's an odd-looking pin, but interesting." Draco snatched his brooch from the pre-offered hand, tucking it safely on his pocket.

"You can leave. _Now."_

"Ouch." That bastard dramatically placed his hand on his chest, feigning hurt, soon chuckling as if he found this whole thing amusing. "I wasn't even here for ten minutes."

Draco promptly ignored him. He made his way back to his bench, huffing a breath he didn't know he was holding. His eyebrows were still knitted into a frown. He wasn't sure what he was going to do if the man kept pestering him.

"So what's your name? Is this your house or something?"

"Was that an attempt to make a conversation?" Draco stared in barely concealed incredulity. It was supposed to be a sarcastic remark, but he made it sound more like a genuine question.

"Touchy. So why were you in the marketplace earlier, wearing clothes likethe townspeople?" He eyed what Draco was wearing right now, raising his brows. Draco was no longer in simple trousers and shirt. What he wore – it reeked of money: perfectly tailored pants and button-up. The thief reminded him of his mother. Pestering. Nagging. Not shutting up, maybe?

"It's none of your business."

"Hmm. Mysterious." He tapped his chin, peering at Draco, as if trying to see through him, to see the truth behind his façade. "I like it. Challenging, you know?" Draco rolled his eyes.

"Get out."

Draco stood up, planning to retreat to his bedroom. He made himself clear, so the annoying bastard should find his way out. He was taken aback when he saw him extend a hand towards him. _I'm asking him to leave and he's offering his hand? _Draco just stared at him, speechless.

"I'm Harry."

* * *

**To be continued  
**

**A/N: **Since it's an AU, it seemed fitting to make Harry ask for Draco's hand. What do you guys think? :-)


	2. But Know Not What May Be

**The Price of Love**

* * *

**Chapter 2:** But Know Not What May Be

* * *

His face was priceless.

Draco was gaping like a fish out of water, his eyes unblinking, as he gaped at the man in front of him who had extended his hand for Draco to take. _Who the hell does that? _He felt, then, that this man struck him as a wild card.

This was the first time Draco's ever been in this kind of situation: a random stranger – _a thief, even!_ – who dare stole Draco's pin and is now asking for Draco's hand. Draco was stuck in a trance where he would just stare, and stare, hoping that if he stared enough, it'd go away. Another failed attempt it was, though. That annoying, cheeky _thief_'s hand was still there, no matter how hard or how long he looked at it.

He snapped out of it when he the man cleared his throat.

"You know, it's quite awkward to stay like this." Eyes flickering to the man's offered hand, Draco noticed that he was waving it, as if expecting Draco to take it. _He stole my pin – although he returned it, but that's out of the context – and broke into my balcony, and now he's presuming I would take his hand? _The hell he would.

"You really think I'm going to take that?"

"Why not?"

In that precise moment, Narcissa chose to knock on Draco's door.

"Draco? May I speak to you for a moment?"

Draco hid a groan, running his hand over his hair. He opened the glass door and said, loud enough for his mother to hear.

"I'm busy, mother."

Narcissa was silent for a moment, and Draco feared that she might decide to barge into his room. Then she would see that bastard, and would question Draco, and he would have to come up with a lie, because _I can't tell her I was in town today!_ He couldn't think of an excuse that fast. It would be a disaster, because his mother somehow always knew whenever he lied. She always went on about how "eyes are the window to the soul," or something as grotty as that. Draco was not going to take that risk.

Hurriedly heading towards the door, Draco placed his ear on the wood, his hand moving to the doorknob in case his mother did decide to enter.

"Very well, darling, but remember the tea party tomorrow with the Greengrass'." With that, Draco heard her footsteps fade away. He exhaled a breath he didn't know he had held.

"So, your name is Draco, oh-mysterious-man." Draco jumped when he heard the man's voice, drawling the last three words with a hint of smirk. What Draco hated more was that he could just _feel _the smugness radiating from his words. It made Draco clench his jaw, and he did not attempt to reply. It was better to ignore him. He started chanting on his mind what he would always think whenever his mother or father would lecture him, or whenever he was at tea parties: _if you ignore them long enough, they might leave_. Might.

"Ahem. Shall we start that again, then? I'm Harry."

Draco quirked a brow at the way the thief introduced himself. It was, after all, normal to mention one's full name. This was his second effort, yet he made no attempt to state his last name.

"What's your surname?" Draco ignored the man's extended hand.

Pursing his lips, Potter took a moment to reply. When he did, any sign of previous amusement was gone from his features.

"…Potter."

Draco furrowed his brows, confused. He didn't know why the man was hesitant. And the name Potter… It sounded familiar, but Draco couldn't quite pinpoint _what _exactly made it familiar to him. He noticed that Potter had already dropped his hand and was now looking anywhere but him, seemingly interested in Draco's furnishings all of a sudden.

"I see you don't like being asked your surname." As casually as possible, Draco remarked whilst heading towards the balcony. He tried not to sound so curious. Potter dropped the curtain he was examining and followed Draco. He rested his elbows on the railing of the balcony. Looking down at the garden below him, he huffed. Draco sat on the bench and crossed his legs, waiting for Potter to say something.

"It's just stupid, you know?" Potter finally said, placing his palms on the banister. He turned to face Draco. "I hate it when people judge you by your last name, as if last names would tell you who you are. It's not like that." He looked away, cheeks flushing. "It doesn't work that way, at least, not for me. Why would anyone assume they already know that particular person because of his or her last name? Just because you're a Fitch, which is a well-known, politician family, doesn't mean you're interested in politics!"

Not knowing what to say, Draco just gazed at him. Potter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Potter's cheeks rose with colour once more, but not from the same reason as before. With that, Draco felt his lips curve into a small smirk_. _It delighted Draco to see Potter lose his temper, even just for a moment. It erased Draco's notion of Potter being a perfectly composed, silky bastard. Like Draco was, sometimes. _But I'm so much better_, his mind added huffily, outraged that he even dared compare himself to someone like Potter. A commoner. Plebeian.

"Anyway…" Potter trailed off, walking towards Draco and grabbing his hand.

"What are you doing?" Draco all but squawked, staring at Potter with large eyes. He was breaking rule number one: never touch royalty without his or her permission. "How dare you touch–"

A kiss on Draco's knuckles shut him up.

Draco stared at Potter. He should stop this staring thing.

"Relax. It was just a mandatory greeting, yeah?" Potter chuckled, making Draco grit his teeth.

"No, it wasn't! You were touching me without my permission and that's breaking the _law_–"

"I wasn't aware laws like that existed." Looking taken aback, Potter let go of Draco's hand, shoving his hands on his pockets.

"They do!" Draco lied, hoping to make it sound smooth. _Maybe not so smoothly._ He felt his cheeks heat up, and he quickly added: "And ignorance of the law doesn't exempt you from it." Lifting his chin, Draco raised a brow, daring Potter to retort.

"Mhm. I like it when you speak like that. So formal." Potter's lips quirked into a lazy grin as if realizing that Draco was lying, and waggled his brows. Draco glared at Potter's insinuation. He tugged Draco's hand, silently asking him to stand.

"What the hell?" Not bothering to move, Draco peered at Potter, his brows furrowing into a small frown.

"Language, Mr. Malfoy," chided Potter with a teasing lilt. "Come on." He tugged on Draco's hand once more, his head jerking towards the balustrade.

"I'm not going anywhere." Draco removed his hand from Potter's grip and crossed his arms, looking away. Realization dawning on him, Draco narrowed his eyes and snapped his attention back to Potter. "And how did you know my surname?"

"It was engraved on the back of your pin." Potter shrugged. For a petty thief, he was observant. Draco turned his head away from Potter, silently dismissing Potter's invitation to leave the castle.

"You're going to regret that." Potter chuckled. He then walked towards the balcony, placed his palm on one of the plinths, and jumped.

Draco's head snapped at the noise, and gaped in horror, rushing to where Potter had been. Draco's room was – _thankfully – _not located in those high towers the castles had, but on a rather safe place. It was on the third floor, where he could see a part of the garden whenever he was in his balcony.

"Potter, what the f–"

"Come on, I know you want to." Opening his arms, Potter grinned. "Jump and I'll catch you." His hands were beckoning Draco. Looking around, Draco decided that it was not safe to jump or do anything remotely _Potter-like._

"There is no way that I'm jumping in this height!"

"It's just three floors. You won't _die_." Shaking his head, Potter laughed.

"I could break a bone."

"Scared, Malfoy?"

"You wish." And he jumped.

Thank Merlin he didn't die. Or break anything. But he did land on Potter, earning a pained groan. Potter's arm encircled his upper back, almost– _he fell and he's protecting me?_ Draco felt incredulous, but at the same time, thrilled.

"Knew you couldn't resist." Glancing down, Draco saw Potter looking back at him, his eyes, greenest eyes Draco ever saw, glinting in the moonlight. Potter's gaze travelled to their compromising position, his lips soon quirking into a coy grin. Draco's gratitude was short-lived. Potter's suggestive comments were maddening.

Draco got up, placing his palm on Potter's chest, using it as a support. He put on more force than needed. Potter hissed in pain, the air being squeezed out of his lungs. Draco smirked. "It was an accident. It's not like I'm used to breaking into houses and jumping from balconies." Dusting dirt off from his clothes, Draco looked at him pointedly.

Blinking at the accusation, Potter got up, running a hand through his already messy locks, mussing them further. "This was the first time, I swear."

"If you say so."

"Hey, just because I stole your pin, doesn't mean I'm a liar, too." Potter rose to his defense, taking Draco's hand with his and leading him out of the castle. Draco rolled his eyes, unsure of what to believe.

"Whatever."

Looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was there, Draco allowed his eyes to skim the windows of the castle. He wasn't sure what he would do when somebody walked towards them and asked them where are they going, and why, it's already late, and _who in the name of sanity is this man? _Draco suppressed a shudder when he imagined the worst scenario possible: his mother or father – or both – seeing him with Potter, sneaking out of the castle, late at night. They would think it was a rendezvous.

Most of the lights were already turned off. Draco scanned the balcony, just in case mother was enjoying her usual late-night musings, or father was enjoying a break from his work with a glass of scotch, his preferred drink. He saw the guards of the gate dozing off, their hands gripping on their pikes for dear life. The guards' heads were already thrown back dozily, their steel caps threatening to fall off.

A squeeze on Draco's hand made him tear away his attention back to Potter, who was looking at him with that annoying, slightly lopsided grin of his, green eyes sparkling with barely-concealed mirth.

"Come on, Draco."

Draco felt his heart skip a beat. Draco stared at Potter, not because he was being a persistent, nagging prat, but because it had been so long since someone who wasn't his mother or father had called him by his first name. Everyone addressed him with the word Prince, or Your Highness. He didn't really have a long-lasting friend – not that he was _ever _willing to consider Potter as a friend – to remind him that there was Prince Draco, but more importantly, just Draco.

"I'll show you the stars."

* * *

The forest was different from what Draco remembered. It was much clearer, despite the lack of light, and it didn't feel as if vicious animals would maul him any moment. Even though he had learned about it from books and pictures, the actual grove caught Draco's breath. The arrangement of different plants – plants that he knew by name, plants that he knew by image – like pine, oak, beech, little shrubs here and there, and exquisite-looking flowers that wasn't in his mother's garden was stunning.

It took a moment for Draco to recover, and he cleared his throat, warily glancing at Potter. "'I'll show you the stars?' That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"What? I think it's fantastic. Besides, it's original."

"That's ridiculous."

"And you're not creative enough."

"Shut it."

"Mhm. Language."

Potter's hand on his own was comforting to say the least, however baffled Draco was at the whole prospect of someone like Potter touching him. He didn't mind, of course, but it was how he was raised. Physical contact was something Draco didn't very often and he would flinch when someone touched him. Just as Draco was finally relaxing into Potter's grip, he let go.

Trying to crush his rising disappointment, Draco followed suit when Potter sat on a flat rock, its size twice as large as Draco's body. Potter's lips twisted into a smile as he stared into the night sky. And it wasn't that annoying, slightly crooked grin of his. It looked like a mixture of happy and sad. Draco was itching to ask what was the big deal about the stars, only to be distracted by Potter's features. His eyes were as bright as the stars shining above. The moonlight was embracing his face. Draco couldn't help but stare, transfixed, until he felt Potter's elbow nudging him.

"See that one over there?" Potter was pointing at the sky, probably pointing to a constellation. Draco shook his head with a small frown when he couldn't see anything remarkable. He was never good at identifying constellations; he found Astronomy to be one of the least interesting subjects, along with Divination. His mind would wander off to everywhere but the current subject when his personal educator would teach him about the sun, moon, and stars. As for Divination, he had asked his parents to drop the subject after his first lesson.

"It's the Little Bear, a little slanted. And that's the Big Bear." Moving his index finger slightly, Potter pointed right below the previous one. Draco recognized those names, so he narrowed his eyes, trying to find the dipper-shaped constellations. He let out a frustrated sigh when he couldn't, biting back a remark that would admit his defeat.

"They're called Ursa Minor and Ursa Major, Potter," said Draco, rolling his eyes, not letting Potter know that he couldn't find them anywhere. Draco knew, of course, that either term could be used, but he wanted the formal titles. And of course Draco said that just to spite him. Potter merely chuckled. Potter's gaze was still fixated at the night sky.

"There's a myth," Potter started as if lost in his thoughts. Draco could hear him perfectly, despite his soft voice. "The Big Bear was actually a woman named Callisto. She was one of the many lovers of Zeus, the king of the gods." Brows knitting in disapproval when Potter refused to use the Latin name, Draco looked at the sky, still trying to figure out where _Ursa Major _was.

"But Hera, Zeus' wife, got insanely jealous and turned Callisto into a bear. One day, Arcas, Callisto's son, was walking in the woods when he spotted her in bear-form." Potter's voice was a like a soft melody. Heaving a soft sigh, Potter continued: "Arcas was a great hunter." Gulping, Draco's eyes widened fractionally, subconsciously scooting closer to Potter.

"Did she die then?" Draco couldn't help but ask, even though he already knew the answer to that. But he wanted some form of confirmation of that tragic myth – not that it was the only one Draco heard. There were only a handful of stories that ended happily in Greek mythology, and Draco had started to conclude that the Greeks were sadistic bastards.

"Yeah." Potter affirmed with a nod, crushing Draco's smallest hopes that perhaps Zeus could've seen that earlier and brought Callisto back to her human form, and they both would've lived happily ever after. It was a girlish notion, yes, but Draco preferred happy endings. Glancing at Draco for a brief moment, Potter's lips curved into a smile.

"But at least Zeus brought them back together by making them into constellations," said Potter in what Draco thought was a soothing tone.

Draco wanted to punch him. Hard. And that was a dangerous idea, considering that he had never wanted to punch someone his whole life.

"That's not enough!" Draco exclaimed, standing up unceremoniously from his seat. "Zeus should've revived Callisto! He's a god, isn't he? Why didn't he do that? What was he _thinking _when he turned them into stars? As if turning them into constellations would do either of them good! Is he bloody_ daft_?" Draco's words were hot as fire, an onslaught of angry, shooting arrows.

Potter blinked, looking at Draco in front of him, then burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. Not knowing what to say, Draco scowled in disapproval at the mocking display of Potter in front of royalty. Waiting for Potter to sober, Draco crossed his arms and glared down at him.

Potter wiped the tears from his face and gently grabbed Draco's hand, tugging Draco back to the place beside him. Draco sat, but this time maintained a respectable distance between them. Potter raised a brow at Draco's sulky behavior then grinned.

"Aw, come on. I was just…" Stifling another laugh by faking a cough, Potter moved closer to Draco, their legs touching. "It was just ridiculous, you know?" Draco rolled his eyes but didn't move away.

"Says the person who said 'I'll show you the stars.'"

Potter chuckled, and as Draco glanced at him, his eyes were back on the night sky again. His features softened when he smiled, as if reminiscing something. "I have another myth."

"It better not be tragic."

"I promise. It's not."

"You're hard to trust."

"You'll have to. And you will like the story, anyway. It's about you."

"What?"

"Well, the constellation's name is Draco, meaning dragonin Latin," Potter explained, his smile broadening at Draco's confused tone. He pointed towards the sky once more, and Draco had to squint, trying to figure it out, to no avail. "It's the one beside Little Bear. The myth says that Draco represents Ladon, the hundred-eyed dragon that guarded the golden apples of Hera. He was later killed by Heracles, though, but I'm sure Ladon put up a good fight before he died."

"_Come not between the dragon and his wrath,"_ quoted Draco, nodding in satisfaction that the dragon didn't die foolishly and cowardly.

"What?" It was Potter's turn to ask, looking confused as he turned his attention to Draco.

"Shakespeare's King Lear."

"Are you going to wax poetic now?" Potter grinned, his voice drooping into a teasing lilt.

"Shut up and listen," Draco cleared his throat. "Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, / How to divide the conquest of thy sight; / Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, / My heart mine eye the freedom of that right."

When Draco finished reciting, Potter was looking at him with an expression Draco couldn't exactly articulate. It gave Draco satisfaction to a fractional degree to see Potter just staring at him, mouth open – it was Potter's turn to gape, rightfully so. Despite his smugness, Draco could feel his body heat up, contrasting with the night's chilly breeze.

"Um… Wow. That was nice." Potter finally said after a few seconds. "Your voice was amazing, too." Draco raised his eyebrows. "I mean… er… your voice sort of _changed _and it matched the poem perfectly, so it was better because I don't really like poems– heck, I think this is the first time I heard a proper one but–"

"Potter, you're rambling," said Draco rather flatly, and Potter's nervousness deflated. With a blink, his foreign, dumbstruck expression was gone. Draco was itching to do whatever it takes to bring it back, just to see how imperfect Potter was, and to tell himself that there's more than what Potter was showing – his charming, self-important façade.

"Right. So, um, you like Shakespeare, huh?"

"I do enjoy his works the most." Draco delved into his pocket and removed his pin, laying it on his palm for Potter to see. "This was actually the reason why I started reading them."

The bronze brooch had an old French escutcheon shape, surrounded with primroses. In the center, a nightingale was biting onto a scroll that extended to the bottommost, which bore the words: _Love's not Time's fool. _Draco, long ago, concluded that this couldn't possibly be a family heirloom. Their family motto was _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper _and their supporter was a serpent. All coat of arms found in the castle was engraved with those, except for Draco's. This unique pin held a special place in Draco's heart.

"My grandmother gave it to me before she died. She bought it somewhere far, I think."

"So what does it mean?"

"It means love is timeless. Love doesn't diminish over time, and time can't affect love till death."

"For a person like you, you're oddly romantic," Potter remarked with a grin.

"Oh, shut up," Draco rolled his eyes, but returned his grin this time. And with that, Draco's icy barrier of semblance melted a bit.

* * *

**To be continued**

**A/N: **The title of this chapter is taken from Shakespeare's Hamlet: Act IV, Scene V and is actually _b__ut know not what we may be _(spoken by Ophelia).


End file.
